Bright Lights, Dark Shadows
by LegionOfMisfits
Summary: Years before the events of RWBY, two of the most powerful and influential of Remnant's villains were brought together by happenstance. What comes next is a twisted ballad of love and hate that evolved into the birth of Vale's greatest criminal duo. Based on characters created by Monty Oum.
1. Chapter 1

**Foreword -** And here it is! The long awaited (by me) story that I've teased on and off for a while now. Now that I've returned from my numerous activities over the course of the summer months, I'm back in business. Later this month I will be returning to school at University of Portland to complete my masters' degree in sociology, as well as taking up a new job (albeit nothing as exciting as teaching college students).

Oh yeah, I'm also getting married next month. Fun times all around.

Oh yeah oh yeah, my fiancee is also pregnant. Oops.

Regardless of how clusterfuck-y my life is at this moment, I hope you all enjoy a fic that I've been wanted to write for a while; it's a topic and characters that I love, a style that I and my readers seem to enjoy and plenty of plans for fun stuff. Don't expect a lot of seriousness from this one - it's a lot of humor, crazy action and some of my style of fluff, and I can't wait to get it out to you guys.

Enjoy :)

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

The streets of Vale were just beginning to flood with their morning rush of business as the doors of the coffee shop off of Andersmith Boulevard opened its doors. A lazy line of customers streamed in and out, taking their coffee and running in most cases, but with a few choosing to stop and enjoy the beverages while awaiting the inevitable monotony of their work days. The bell chimed, as it did every time a customer entered. The clerk looked up, a cheerful smile on his youthful face.

"Welcome to 'Brewed Awakenings,' sir, how may I help you today?"

The fellow on the other side of the counter was plainly dressed, a simple black collared shirt and blazer, matched by equally dark pants, a grey belt and a black hat with a red band. A single grey feather rose from where it was tucked into the hat, standing at attention. The man leaned easily on a long metal hook cane, and smiled easily from beneath a pair of emerald eyes. He lazily pushed a few strands of well-groomed orange hair out of his face before screwing up his face in indecision.

"Ah well, let's see… a tall espresso - the Vacuan dark roast with… screw it, let's do two shots today." Again, the man flashed a set of brilliant white teeth and shifted his weight.

The clerk nodded cheerfully and returned the smile, turning to punch the transaction into the register. "Excellent sir, that'll be six twenty-nine, and will that be for here or to go?" He looked back up and yelped involuntarily at the sight of a gun muzzle poking out from beneath the man's blazer.

"I'll take it to go, please," the man said easily. The clerk drew in breath and held it as the gun muzzle twitched. The man in the jacket clucked his tongue. "No need to go making a scene, pal. Just take everything out of that register and put it in one of those cup holders. Pass it across the counter nice and easy, alright?" The clerk moved a little too suddenly and the man tensed before the clerk gave an uneasy laugh.

"Ha, good joke sir, really funny. Sure, of course you can have a bag with your scone." Cooperating for his own sake, the clerk opened the register and began shoveling cash as inconspicuously as possible into a plastic bag. He threw a scone into the bag as well, smiling nervously as he did so. "You have a good day sir," he said as he passed the well-armed customer his order.

The man sighed. "I said in the tray, but I suppose this will have to do." Now, you feel free to call the cops in about two minutes - a second before that and I'll pay you a visit one of these nights… mister Sienna."

Bidding the clerk his adieu, he slid the gun back into his blazer and stepped out into the morning sunlight, whistling a tune as he made his way down the street. Stopping by a phone booth on the roadside, he reached in and withdrew a heavy jacket. Pulling it around himself, he stepped back out, removed his hat and lowered his head, walking at a regular pace down the busy street. The distant sound of sirens swelled and a pair of police interceptors sped past, heading to the crime scene. The man scoffed. If the cops in his city had a lick of sense, they'd have set up a perimeter instead of bolting straight for a scene where their suspect most certainly wasn't.

A ten minute walk saw the man stepping through his apartment door, on the fourth floor of a four-story building, setting his coffee down on the counter and sighing contentedly as he slid out of his jacket first and then his blazer. He withdrew the scone from his bag and stuck it in the corner of his mouth, emptying the bag's other contents onto a round coffee table. Coins scattered and he brushed crumbs off the lien notes - ones, fives, tens and twenties. He smiled at the take. Nothing bountiful, but certainly not light. He smiled and took a bit of the scone, slugging down a mouthful of coffee and reaching into his pocket for a lighter and a cardboard pack. He tapped out a cigarette and stuck one end in his mouth, lighting it quickly and dragging for a long moment. Nicotine, caffeine and adrenaline mingled and a rush of euphoria set him tingling from head to toe.

It was a good day to be Roman Torchwick.

* * *

Bron Haler chewed the end of his cigar discontentedly as his eyes roved over the young woman before him. She was closely inspecting the scroll he had handed her, mismatched eyes moving silently over the holographic screen. Her thumb swiped occasionally, cycling through the photographs stored on the piece of technology.

"He's bad for business," Bron said, his voice a hearty basso rumble fringed with a touch of rasp from the tobacco he had allowed himself with for years. "He's intelligent, clever, belligerent and worst of all, confident. He knows he's good, and he's been inspiring a whole new wave of people to walk away from my organization." He leaned forward, his massive bulk filling the space. "People may not realize it, but I am at war. The Xiongs are going to see the sudden rush of people moving out of my organization and starting up independently, and they are going to press their advantage. Hui Xiong is a brutal man, but a well-known lout, and I will not surrender all that I have spent years building just because some _upstart_ decided to hop off his ship at the first sign of land.

He settled back, crossing his arms. The woman set down the scroll and made a similar movement, her eyes boring into his own. "Personally, I don't know what all this hype surrounding you is. You don't look like much to me, but numbers don't lie. Nobody does what you do like you do, so I'm taking a gamble. Make an example of him. Don't drag it out, unless that's your thing. The rate is simple, but fair. Twenty thousand up front, four times that when you bring me proof. I'll throw in an extra ten percent if I hear about it on the news. Sound fair?"

A nod was his only response and he grumbled, taking his cigar from his mouth and tapping a bit of ash into a glass tray. "The timeframe is loose, but get it done soon. Now go." He waved a hand at his guards and the men opened the door, allowing the woman to exeunt. He sighed after the door had shut, then looked at the scroll on the desk in front of him. Roman Torchwick's grinning face gazed up at him from a years-old mugshot. Bron growled and let a bit of ash fall through the former Haler footpad's face.

"You'll get yours, you smug bastard. Enjoy the little present I've just sent your way; she's sure to get a kick out of bringing you down."

* * *

Roman's smirk was worn nigh-constantly on his face for the remainder of the night, following his little show at the cafe. Someone might have seen a smile like that and called him out as having a bad poker face. Problem was, Roman _always_ wore that smirk, so seeing him with any other expression would have been a better warning sign.

He laid his hand of greasy, corner-bent cards on the table, revelling in the groans that came from the table's other occupants. "Sorry fellas," he said cheerfully though his cigarette, pushing the nicotine-laced package to the edge of his mouth as he leaned forward and scraped up his winnings. "I just let the chips fall where they may. Luck's with me tonight, but uh, once payday runs around we can do this again, alright?"

The others stood up and left, unwilling to lose anymore of their hard-earned gambling allowances. One muttered a disheartened "fuck you, gingy," as he strode past, but otherwise they left Roman in peace. He stretched and finished his cigarette, grinding the tip and stub into the ashtray and scooping the lien notes and change off the table and into a duffel bag. Shouldering the burden, he stepped back out into the club proper.

It was a dive, to be perfectly honest. No amount of nice paint or obnoxious radio and billboard publicity could change that. It was a shitty club in a shitty part of town, which made it an ideal roost for all the worst that Vale had to offer.

Sidling up toward the bar, Roman shouldered his way through throngs of drunken partiers grinding on each other, and nearly laid a man out when the dancer asked, voice heavy with inebriation, if he could buy Roman a drink.

The gangster found a seat at the crowded bar and signaled the drinkmaster over. "The '30 Atlesian bourbon. Ice, if you have it." The barkeep sauntered off to fulfill the drink order and Roman stretched, laying the duffel by his feet where he could keep a close eye on it, but freeing up his upper body. He took his drink when it was offered, apprehensively regarded the stained and tarnished glass tumbler it came in, said fuck it and took a sip of the burning liquid. At least the Atlesians knew how to make good liquor.

A stirring movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention. Turning his head to the side, he raised an eyebrow at a petite young woman who had just sidled up to the bar. She looked to be around his age - a year or two younger perhaps - and was dressed (or decorated, at the least) in one of the strangest fashions he had seen.

She truly was short - not even five feet, compared to Roman's impressive height. On the side nearest Roman her hair was a dark, chocolate brown. On the other side of a pale, heart-shaped face was an equally striking shock of bright pink hair, which the woman casually pushed in front of her ear with an errant gesture. Her eyes were mismatched as well, gazing heterochromatically out of an elfin face. Her garment was a pair of brown pants, a pink skirt and a simple white jacket, unzipped at the top to display a pink undershirt. A gaggle of necklaces hung beneath her throat, despite her unimposing stature her musculature was obvious. She was lean and lithe - built like a swimmer. _Or a fighter,_ he reminded himself inwardly.

He realized he was staring, as did she. Her gaze rotated and fixed him solidly. There was a moment of unspoken communication before Roman cleared his throat and took another drink of his whiskey.

"Sorry for staring, you just… never seen you around here before, y'know?"

The woman shrugged and Roman raised an eyebrow. "You just decided of all the bars in the city, this was a good one to chill at? Just surprising is all; it's kind of a dive." The bartender snorted and Roman shot him a cocksure smile before turning back to the woman, who simply shrugged in response to his previous question as well. He considered her for a long moment as she waved the bartender over, scribbled something on a napkin and waited while the barman brought her a drink.

"You're quiet," Roman observed astutely. She rolled her eyes and nodded slowly, as though explaining something to a child before smiling. White teeth glared at him and Roman chewed his lip for a moment. As she took a drink of her beverage he slugged down the last of his bourbon. "You're odd, too, but it's more intriguing than off-putting." He extended a hand to her, setting his tumbler down on the bar. "I'm Roman."

She smiled again and shook the hand before withdrawing and taking a deep draught of her beverage. _Damn,_ Roman thought as he watched her drain all the remaining alcohol. "You, er, have a name?" She turned and smiled again - a full toothed grin - before lashing out at him with the speed and violence of a whipcord uncoiling. Roman felt pain blossom in his face and reeled backwards, falling from his chair, blood streaming from his nose as he recovered from the sudden and unexpected attack. The bartender cried out and somebody screamed. From there, everything blurred.

Roman's first thought was of his money - the heavy sack still resting beneath the bar stool. He dove forward and rolled in midair to avoid a scissoring kick from the acrobatic young woman. He grabbed the bag and flung it across the floor before immediately rolling again to avoid a splitting kick that would have struck him square. His stool splintered and the bag of money skated across the floor. Searching frantically, he picked up Melodic Cudgel from among the chaos of fleeing patrons and raised the weapon, holding it across his chest like a barrier. He fixed the girl with a menacing gaze and she returned one of her own - a stare that would melt steel beams.

"All I did was ask your name," he said chastisingly. "Now you've spoiled all these folks' nice evenings. Now, are you going to apologize or-"

In response, she launched herself across the intervening space, spinning in midair and nearly catching him with a kick. Instead, he used the hooked end of his cane to trip the girl in midair. She spiraled and bowled into a table, scattering pretzels and cheap booze across the floor. She stood, brushing herself off and scowling before sighing and fixing her attention back on the immediate issue.

 _Fuck this shit,_ Roman thought angrily. _Cops will be here in minutes; I need to grab that bag and get out of here._ Almost as soon as he had the thought though, some random passerby decided it was his evening to capitalize. Roman cried out as he watched the man - his shape little more than a black silhouette - grab the bag and take off toward the door. Forgetting all about the psychotic multi-colored bitch trying to kill him, Roman charged after the bag of hard-won lien.

He burst through the doors of the club, glass shattering out of the metal frame as a shot from Melodic Cudgel practically blew the portway apart. The man carrying the bag of lien stumbled and swore as the bag flew from his fingers. He face-planted heartily on the pavement and Roman gave him a hearty kick on his way past, eyes roving for the bag of money. He spotted it in the hazy glare cast by a lamppost, but as he started toward it he felt something slam into him and send him careening across the street. He smashed into the face of a building, bursting through the decrepit facing and sending showers of plywood splinters and aging mortar showering about himself.

He stood slowly, took note of the fresh tears in his jacket and swearing quietly. He shot a venomous glance to the miniscule figure of his aggressor on the far side of the square. She reached behind herself and flicked her wrist, opening a lacy parasol and mock-curtsying. Roman ground his teeth and instantly sent a barrage of shots from Melodic Cudgel downrange. She extended the parasol in front of herself and Roman hooted with delight as the sidewalk around her was blasted into dust.

His exaltation turned to another frantic mouthful of curses as he saw the woman, completely unscathed, and smiling like a goddamn jack-o-lantern.

For once, he was actually glad to see the tell-tale red and blue flashing sequence of police lights, and before he knew it the street was filled with cops, all of whom trained their weapons on the bitch with the parasol. Roman ducked behind the wrecked wall he had crashed through and watched the spectacle, simultaneously searching (once again) for his money.

"Vale police - put your hands in the air! Drop the… umbrella and get on your knees!"

She resisted the urge to laugh and correct him. _Parasol. Not umbrella. Simpletons._ She turned to face the voice that had spoken and saw half a dozen police officers with sidearms trained on her. She knew there were more behind her, doing the exact same thing. It also occurred to her that, not only was Torchwick still breathing in the building to her left, the duffel bag he was taking so much care to recover was a scant three meters from her.

She considered her options. Roman was clearly interested in whatever was in that bag, which would make it useful leverage. Still, it wasn't as though she needed to bargain. He was good - better than she had expected - but with the beating he had taken and the presence of the police, she could finish him in moments if she could get close enough.

"Last chance!" the cop called. "Drop your weapons and get on the ground; hands up and behind your head, and on your knees! Do it, or we will use force!"

 _Come along then,_ she thought. _Take me._

The cop swore into his megaphone and signaled to the other officers to advance. Four of them did so, and she rotated her head slightly to note two more approaching from behind. The first one reached her in just under fifteen seconds - they were careful, which she credited them for. It wouldn't save them. As the man reached for his handcuffs she sprang into action. A heeled boot crashed into the underside of the man's jaw, knocking him straight into the air. As her leg levered back down she dropped to a low crouch, swinging her parasol and sweeping out the legs of one of the men attempting to get behind her. As he fell she rolled over his prone form, rising from the movement and slamming her shoulder into another officer's chest. She felt a twinge of sensation in the back of her mind and rotated just in time to block a barrage of bullets from the cops previously to her front. She felt the impacts slamming into her parasol and with a smile she flipped a switch and gave a light tug at the trigger that sprang from inside the device. A moment later the ground shook with a satisfying rumble as the concussive round she had fired found its mark. The police scattered blindly, clutching at their suddenly-spinning craniums and running into walls, cruisers and each other in the process.

Rolling backwards out of the defensive stance, she felt the disturbance as multiple shots passed within inches of her auric barrier, streaming off toward the police she had just discombobulated. Her entire body twisted as she forced herself further and further back, arms springing her backwards before continuing the rolling motion.

She controlled the motion disorientation that threatened to set in and recovered just in time to sweep her weapon around, catching one man in the jaw with the broad end and knocking him into his colleague. A man whom she had rolled past spun, firing shots wildly from his weapon. She blocked a few more rounds with the parasol and lunged forward. As she emerged from the motion she felt a screaming disturbance in her aura and blinked, calling her semblance forth in the moment of desperation she didn't need to fully comprehend to avoid.

The police officer blinked in surprise as the image of the woman in front of him visibly _shattered_ , his bullet parting the woman's figure and blasting her into a thousand shards. He recoiled, horrified by what he had done, and his eyes widened further as the woman re-materialized before him. He extended his arm again, preparing to fire but cried out as she twisted, her leg wrapping around his arm like a python and refusing to yield.

She flexed slightly and he cried out in pain as he felt the bones in his arm dislocate. His weapon fell limply from his grasp and he blinked through the haze of pain just in time to see the woman writhe in midair, using him as a lever while her other foot spun up and around, slamming into his temple.

He dropped lifelessly to the ground and the woman stuck the landing as gracefully as a dancer, her parasol still clutched in her free hand. The cops moaned in pain or lay unmoving as she picked her way across the battlefield. Smiling, she knelt next to the bag Torchwick was after before feeling the insistent twinge of incoming-danger a moment too late. Pain blossomed in the back of her head and darkness enveloped her like a shroud.

Roman grinned manically, clutching Melodic Cudgel like a bat as the woman crumpled before him. "Sorry dearie," he cooed. "But that's mine." He scooped up the duffel and rotated just in time to feel a stinging pain in his own chest. He lost all feeling in his limbs, the bag of money fell from his grip and the ground rushed up to meet him.

 _Karma's a bitch,_ he thought emptily as he struck the pavement.

* * *

 **AN** \- Aw Hell yeah. Feels good to be back in the swing of things. As always, I appreciate comments, follows and favs, as well as any and all feedback you guys can give to make the story better. I know it's a little early to tell (and I'm terrible when it comes to holding up on commitments) but I've got some really good ideas for where I want to take this fic. Really. Trust me. Please.

Thanks for reading - next chapter dropping in the next few days. Have a great weekend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

" _... the match ended with a crushing victory for South Atlas, scoring 7-2 in the final match-up of the pre-season. Starting next week, we will have full, nightly coverage of each night's Grifball games, so stay tuned to see if Vale can turn things around. We turn now to newly-elected Chief of Police Nathan Steele, who spoke today about the incident last night that hospitalized four police officers and brought in one of the most notorious criminals in Vale. Olivia Winde has the story."_

" _Thanks Hem - Chief Steele spoke just a few hours ago regarding the capture of Roman Torchwick, a small-time criminal wanted in connection with multiple robberies in the last couple of months. Now, the circumstances surrounding the arrest are still being kept under wraps but what we know is that Chief Steele is marking this as the start of a new crackdown on crime here in Vale, one that couldn't come soon enough as violent crime rates spike to an all-time high in the wake of an escalating conflict between two local crime families. We'll have more on this developing story as it unfolds…"_

* * *

Roman's chest felt like he had been kicked by a horse as he sat up slowly, rubbing the burning suns flanking his sternum on either side. Groggily lifting his shirt, he swore at the sight of two perfectly-burned holes where the police's advanced stun weapon had hit him. The hair underneath the shirt was singed slightly, and everything stung like a hundred angry bee stings.

And the physical pain was nothing compared to the embarrassment he was feeling right about now. Taken in by a bunch of amateur-hour cops while chasing a little girl with pink and white hair? Fucking brilliant - the press would have a field day.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he tried not to think about how they only sleep he'd gotten tonight came after being tazed by a trigger-happy bozo who likely would've slammed a bullet into his aura, had said aforementioned bozo not just finished getting his ass whooped by a little girl with an umbrella. Speaking of whom...

She was perhaps the only person whose mood was worse than Roman's at this moment. She was sitting in a cell identical to his straight across the walkway, legs crossed as she eyed him with palpable disgust. He sat up a little straighter and brushed off the front of his shirt. He returned the glare to the young woman, scowling along with it as he patted his shirt pocket and found that (of course), the police had relieved him of his lighter and smokes.

"Well, I hope you're happy," he said roughly. Her expression conveyed that she was anything but. "Y'know, I was riding high as a fucking kite yesterday. Had my money, my booze, my smokes and who knows - might've had somebody to go home with had I not set my sights on *you.* She scoffed but didn't speak and Roman shook his head. "Did they cut your tongue out when they taught you how to professionally fuck up people's days?"

She chose to ignore him and instead he scratched his chin, regarding his simple surroundings with distaste. It was a local police precinct, though he was sure he'd be seeing a much more secure facility before long. Even as he had the thought, a pair of officers came to the cell across the way from him and whisked the young woman away, slapping a pair of handcuffs around her wrists and taking her off in the direction Roman figured led to the interrogation room.

Time passed. Roman's watch had broken when he smashed through a dilapidated building the night before, and as such he had no measure of how long he had been here. Eventually the two police officers returned and put the girl back in her cell, and it was his turn. The cuffs were too tight and he complained loudly about as much before being sat in a chair and cuffed upside the head. The metal table separating him from his hosts had a pair of braces into which his hands were shackled, and the cops took up places across the table from him. A two-way mirror gazed back at him as he looked to his right before staring both the cops squarely in their smug faces.

"Love what you've done with the place," he stated casually. The officers looked at each other as though they heard this spiel every day before turning back to Roman, acting as though they hadn't heard him at all.

"We have a fair number of details regarding last night's incident, Mr. Torchwick, but your friend in the pink and white didn't give us many answers regarding the two of you. What were you doing there, and what did you do to piss off a little girl like that?"

"She's not a fan of ruggedly handsome rogues like myself, I guess. Probably not into guys at all, if I'm honest - she had that look about her, y'know?"

The other officer - the one who hadn't spoken yet - leaned in on the table. "Is this some kind of fucking joke to you? Four cops in the hospital and you're cracking jokes about her _choice in men?_ Listen here, you piece of shit, I worked for five years in Vacuo. You know what we did to cop killers there? We'd take 'em out into the square, and we'd-"

"Enough, Tan. Go wait outside if you need to, but we're here for answers, not a goddamn PR scandal." The other officer slowly pushed his compatriot aside and took his place leaning on the table, looking at Roman. "Listen Torchwick, you've been in the system before, you know how this goes: give us what we want and maybe you don't get locked up for so long. For all we know, you were a victim of circumstance back there at that bar. Destruction of property and street-fighting are more serious crimes than petty larceny. You're looking at five, maybe six years if you confess and at least ten if you don't. It's not a hard choice, Roman."

Roman smiled, white teeth flashing in the fluorescent light. "No officer, you're right. It isn't. I'll tell you everything you want to know. Where would you like to begin?"

* * *

Bron slammed his fist down on the table, the violent action shaking the ash from the end of his cigar to where it fell in a dirty pile on the hardwood desk. Before him, the messenger shook visibly. When he spoke, his voice was low, controlled and dangerous.

"Tell me again what happened," he said. He hadn't heard the first time through the blood roaring in his ears. The man nodded slowly but did not speak. "Spit it out!" Bron burst out suddenly, the messenger pailing perhaps even more that he had already managed to.

"W-well th-t-t-there w-w-was a f-fight at a bar downtown - the girl and, and Torchwick were there but the cops, well, they got the jump on them and- sir, Torchwick and the girl are both incarcerated - they're in jail." There was a lengthy pause as the man shuffled from foot to foot, Bron chewing his cigar discontentedly. This was a wrench in the spokes for damn sure; he knew he should've trusted his gut over rumor about that girl's prowess. Roman getting captured though… that hadn't happened since before he picked the ginger bastard up off the streets - given him a life and a family. And now not only had he betrayed him, he'd proven himself incapable of surviving for long without the same protection he had chosen to give up.

He might laugh, if he wasn't so goddamn pissed.

He waggled a finger, tucking his cigar into one corner of his mouth as he spoke. "This is a bad deal. I don't trust either of those two not to rat, and I can't afford Roman selling me on any of our business. That damnable Chief Steele is already cracking down, I can't afford any more squeeze from the cops with the Xiong's on our doorstep and ringing the bell." He pointed to the man with his cigar, his voice deadly serious.

"I want you to go find Silan Leaward. Tell him Bron Haler is cashing in on the favor he owes me, and that I want two idiots in the south-city jail dead. I don't care what he has to do, but _I want them in the ground._ Their silence pays his debt - you tell him that. Get out of here."

The man scurried off and Bron rubbed his temples. He had tried to tie off a loose end and had only ended up making the knot worse.

* * *

Her scowl deepened as they returned Torchwick to his sell, setting the smiling criminal down on the bench and undoing his handcuffs as they walked away, discussing the recent interrogation. As soon as she saw his expression, she knew he had squealed. _Pathetic_ , she thought. _No wonder Haler wanted him dead._

Still, she was tiring of this cell. She didn't plan on going to prison, one way or another, and she still had a contract to fulfil.

She spent the next few hours contemplating the best way to escape her incarceration when she heard some sort of a commotion coming from the front desk. Standing and walking slowly to the cell door, she peered down the corridor as best she could, and noticed Torchwick doing the same. A moment later there came the sound of shouting, several gunshots and bodies hitting the floor. She looked sharply at Torchwick who merely raised his eyebrows and smirked. A moment later there came the sound of footsteps down the hall and she saw a man in a dark coat making his way down to where the two jailbirds watched him intently. A rifle was slung casually across his chest, and he wore a confidant smirk on a chiseled - but scarred - face.

"Well," he said, his voice smooth as a gravel driveway, "here's our prodigal son." He addressed Torchwick, never turning his back on her. "You've gotten yourself into quite a pickle, eh Orangey? And you," he said, rotating only his head to face her. "With a reputation like yours I was expecting… more. Oh well. 'Spose they won't be singing your praises much longer, one way or another. Now, if you two could just hold still, that'd be swell." He rotated back to Roman and raise his rifle. He was left-hand-dominant, she noticed, and his shoulder swiveled as he raised the rifle to his shoulder to fire.

It was the last mistake he would have a chance to make.

Summoning every bit of aura she could muster, she backed up only slightly and threw herself at the bars, expending her aura in a single burst as she did. The world around her seemed to warp and phase, and as a thousand light flickered into existence around her she felt the bonds of reality slipping away - cast off into the void like leaves in a storm.

She felt solid ground beneath her feet again, moments before she slammed bodily into the man prepared to shoot her quarry while he sat in a cage like an animal. The man stumbled slightly, his rifle cracking and the shot blasting sparks up around the lock on Torchwick's cell door. The former gangster swore and she swooned backwards from the man she had just hit as he rounded on her. His rifle howled again and she leapt out of the way, regaining her sense just in time to feel the rounds soar within feet of her.

She rolled through the narrow space, the bullets kicking up shattered chunks of concrete around her as she thought of some way to tackle this foe. Unarmed, she was at a disadvantage. More police would be arriving on the scene in minutes - there was no way they hadn't heard all the gunfire. The hail of gunfire stopped and she saw Torchwick - having vacated his cell through the door after the lock was blown apart - grappling with their assailant. As she watched, the man threw Torchwick over his shoulder like a doll and slammed him into the ground, raising the rifle to fire point-blank.

 _Oh no you don't, you son of a bitch. This is my contract, and if anybody's going to kill him it'll be me!_ She leapt forward, twisting in the air and relishing the impact as her foot struck solidly in the top of the man's chest. His rifle flew from his grasp and skittered across the floor and he toppled backwards before recovering a growling.

She landed nimbly on her feet and, looking at her target on the ground, decided to deal with the more pressing matter first. She eyed the upstart with palpable distaste as the man shook his head, drawing a long knife from his belt. "You had to make it difficult, didn't you?" Before he even finished speaking, he lunged forward, leaping over Roman's prone form and slashing the air where she had been a moment before. Instead, his swing met empty air and he felt a stinging pain as he cascaded through the air, her knee striking his exposed flank and knocking him higher into the air as he passed by.

He slammed into the ceiling, dropping heavily as Torchwick rolled out of the way. He came to his feet and found himself face-to-face with her, and she blinked several times at his confused expression. He seemed genuinely perplexed in relation to something other than the homicidal maniac trying to kill them both. She strode across the space, past Torchwick to the prone man. Planting one heel on the small of his back, she applied pressure until she heard a series of pops and the man cried out.

She heard a scurrying of boots on concrete and knew that Torchwick had made a run for it, but that didn't matter. As soon as he was gone - or as best she could figure - she broke her cardinal rule: speaking to a contract. Though he wasn't *really* a contract, she supposed. Nonetheless, she was going to kill him as soon as she was done.

"Who sent you?" she asked quietly, voice flat. The man coughed through his compressed lungs and began to speak.

"Maybe he was right. You're not bad. Wouldn't be doing half so well if Torchwick hadn't come to your rescue. Should've figured you didn't have the b- AGH!" He cried out in agony as she balanced on the small of his back for a moment while her other foot swiveled and slammed into the side of his chest. She responded by landing - feet out of his reach - and reapplying the pressure.

"Who sent you?" she asked again a little more fiercely. The man coughed again, retching as she pressed down with her boot, crushing the very life from his lungs and enjoying every moment of it. This bastard had tried to kill her, and rob her of a contract. That, she would not abide. But she was getting tired of waiting. If he wouldn't tell her what she wanted to know, she'd pull the answer off his corpse.

She relieved the pressure just barely and was about to restate her question a final time when she felt the man writhe beneath her. Despite her best efforts she staggered, if only for a moment, and he seized the opportunity. He lashed out with his hand, grabbing her ankle and pulling her down. She slammed into the floor and saw stars as her head struck the concrete, the man righting himself and swinging viciously at her face. She raised her hands to block as best she could and attempted to fight back as he rained down blow after blow.

"He was right," the man said as he continued pummeling her, every blow causing her strength to wane a little more. "You weren't worth the price you ask-"

A gunshot exploded around her and she recoiled as the man atop her crumpled, half his head blown away by the unseen shooter's bullet. She panted heavily and looked up slowly to see Torchwick standing ten meters away, the attacker's rifle perched in the crook of his arm as he lowered his eyes from the sights. She moved quickly away from the dead man and stared Torchwick down as he kept the rifle at the ready.

She didn't need to speak - he seemed to sense the question she was asking. "You saved my life," he said. "Now we're even. See you… never." He took the weapon and headed toward the door but stopped as a voice boomed through the station.

"Put your hands in the air! Lay down the weapon or we will shoot!"

She swore inwardly and dashed forward, peering around the corner. Torchwick stood in the center of the blood-soaked atrium, surrounded by dead police as a dozen officers aimed their weapons at him from the street outside. Torchwick shot a glance out the corner of his eye at her. They both knew how bad it looked. In that moment, a dozen thoughts went through her head. The man she was hired to kill was right there in front of her, vulnerable as the day he was born. Why wasn't she acting?

She knew why. The words of the dear man still echoed in her ears. " _You weren't worth the price you asked."_ He never finished, but that was what he was going to say. That man was hired by Bron Haler to finish what she had started - killing Torchwick - and get rid of her in case she snitched. Haler had double-crossed her.

And that she would not abide.

Dashing forward, she grabbed Torchwick by the collar and yanked him backwards, her aura pool physically draining as she threw up an illusion of them both. Moments later, gunshots blasted the image to fragments, but she and Torchwick were gone. A back door provided their out, the police sent to watch that exit rendered unconscious quickly by the fleeing pair. As they made their way to the rooftops and ran, she checked back over her shoulder occasionally to make sure Torchwick was still following. To their mutual surprise, he still was, and so she kept running with her former mark hot on her heels.

* * *

By the time they reached the safe place, noon was settling over the city of Vale. The building was nondescript and nestled firmly in the middle of Vale's residential district. They dropped down from the roof via the fire escape and within moments the woman who had saved Roman not once, but _twice_ had the window open. She hopped nimbly inside and beckoned for Roman to follow, the criminal shaking his head in amazement. _What have I gotten myself into?_

He followed, more and more certain by the minute that the crazy bitch was just leading him to his death. Something kept his feet going forward though - more curiosity than anything else, at this point. He found the woman fishing a key out of a potted plant and quickly unlocking a door on the right side of the hall. Again she gestured impatiently for Roman to follow, and as he stepped inside she locked the door behind them. Instantly Roman went on the defensive.

"I knew it - you fished me out of there just so you could kill me yourself. Well? C'mon. Try me." He stood, bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands up like a boxer for several seconds before realizing that she was only looking at him skeptically. He lowered his guard (but only a little) and raised an eyebrow. "So maybe you're not actually planning to kill me at this point… what's your game? We were square and even - you could have waltzed out of that police station and been gone with the wind, so why didn't you? Why'd you _help_ me?"

He saw her brow furrow and she bit her lip for a long moment. She was obviously grappling with something, and his confusion at the whole situation just grew while he waited. Finally, she shocked him into literal silence… by speaking.

"I… that man who was there he… he was sent by the same man who hired me. To kill you. I mean, the same man who hired me to kill you hired… him to… kill you. Um."

Taking a moment to scrape his jaw off the floor, Roman put on his best airs. "So you can speak. And you were hired to kill me? Hired by who?"

Again, he saw the turmoil on her face, but this time it passed much more quickly. Obviously this was something she was much more certain of.

"Bron Haler. He offered me a hundred thousand lien to make an example of you. For the others in his organization." Zipping her mouth again, she walked to a table by the window where a stack of papers were assembled with colored tags and everything. She withdrew an off-orange labelled bundle and handed it to Roman, and he scanned over a packet of papers that told him everything he needed to know about… himself. Birthdate, criminal record, medical details (outdated - Roman hadn't gone to see a doctor in years), frequent hang-outs…

"This is how you knew to find me at that bar," he observed as he leafed through the papers. She merely nodded. At the bottom of the packet he found a manilla envelope containing 20,000 lien in unmarked notes. He whistled softly before she snatched the money from his hands. He raised his arms defensively and backed off a step before giving a cursory glance to the other papers on the table. There were a lot of them, and if every one was details on a hit this chick had carried out…

"You're obviously busy. Why was taking a contract to hit me so important?" She shrugged but did not speak. He sighed. Back to this. "So you still haven't answered my question: why are you helping me?"

Instead of immediately answering, she walked to the window and gazed out at the streets six stories below. Her mismatched eyes roved constantly and finally she sighed, stepping back from the portal and turning to face him.

"I've… been doing this for a while. I'm good at it. But I don't like being cheated. Haler offered me a contract to kill you… but as soon as things looked unfavorable for him, he backed out and sent… that other guy to kill us both. Tie off loose ends."

Roman nodded, starting to understand. "You want payback. Bron screwed you, and you want to get him back." He smiled - a small, but meaningful smile. It was the first genuine one he had given anybody since the club the previous night. "And you want me to help you."

She took a deep breath before nodding. "Haler told me about how you… used to work for him. I figured if anybody knows how to mess up him and his operation, it's you."

Roman gave a short bark of laughter. "So three hours ago you were busy trying to kill me, and now you want my help in fucking up the guy who hired you to do me in? Is that it?"

She stood for a moment, tight-lipped and silent before giving a single nod. Roman exhaled heavily. This was proving to be an interesting day indeed. And surely bound to get more interesting, if what he said next was to be any indication.

"Alright. Let's do it. Two conditions though - first off, when we find Haler, I want his organization dismantled. He's on the brink of war with the Xiongs - if we leave them be, they'll tear each other to pieces. I've got dealings with the Xiongs though, it's in my best interest that they come out on top. So, we're going to rob, ruin and murder Bron, but I want his money and his assets. You can have the pleasure of killing the fucker, that doesn't matter to me… but his bankroll is mine."

She considered for a moment before nodding. "Fine. But I get the rest of my hundred thousand that I was supposed to get for killing you."

Roman grimaced but nodded. He supposed that a hundred thousand wasn't too bad - not for someone like Haler, at least. She still looked uncertain though.

"What's the second condition?"

Roman smiled, relishing his next words and picking them carefully. "You have to tell me your name."

He saw that she was taken aback, and enjoyed that fact for a moment. However, she soon developed a cocky smile to match his own, and she took a step forward, crossing her arms and gazing up at him as arrogant as could be. She barely stood up to his shoulders, and he had to crane his neck downward to meet her gaze.

"Sure thing. We have one piece of business to take care of first, though."

* * *

The analyst was alone in the shot-up police precinct, trying to ignore the bloodstains as he rifled through the files behind the front desk, looking for information that could help with the shooting. The pair of officers assigned to help him were outside having a smoke, and the man cursed his luck. He was out of his element here - where was his nice, comfy desk when he wanted it the most?

He heard footsteps behind him and half-turned, expecting one of his colleagues. "Finally decided to come help? You can give me a hand sorting through this prisoner belongings box." As the person sidled up next to him, he marveled at some of the stuff he was digging through. Cigarettes, a Dust-lighter, a cane, an umbrella… whose shit was this, anyway? He hefted the cane, noticing that it was entirely metal when the officer next to him clucked his tongue.

"I believe that's mine," the man said and the analyst started, turning slowly to face the ginger man squatting beside him. "Hullo," the gent said amiably and the analyst nearly fainted. He knew this man's face - the same one that had been on the mugshot lying out on the desk. One of the prisoners who had…

Oh, why did it have to be him?

Slowly, hands shaking, he passed the cane to the man, who accepted it gratefully while also grabbing the cigarettes and lighter. The analyst picked up the umbrella and began to hand it to the fellow before he stopped him.

"That one's not mine. It's… hers."

 _Hers?!_

The analyst turned slowly just in time to see a flash of pink and white before darkness enveloped him like a blanket. He crumpled into Roman's arms, snoring softly and the criminal shook the man off as he stood, getting readjusted to the comfortable and familiar feeling of his cane beneath him. He smiled and turned to the woman, who twirled her parasol playfully before settling it into the crook of her arm and exiting through the back door. Roman followed, chasing her briefly to catch up.

He ambled alongside his petite companion and whistled for a moment before looking at her sidelong. "So…?"

She scoffed quietly before quick-stepping forward, rotating to face him and flipping open her parasol. She gave it a quick twirl and let it settle for a moment, and Roman only then noticed the scripted characters blending naturally into the lacy canopy.

 _Neo._

* * *

 **AN** **-** As if there was any doubt. Heh, getting pumped for what's coming next. I don't expect this fic will be very long, but if there's a positive response and people really seem to enjoy it I don't mind carrying it on. I love both these characters and have so many headcanons surrounding them that I'd hate to let it go to waste. You could say that doing such a thing would be… criminal?

Heh… heh…

Mhm.

Sorry.

Seriously though, thank you (as always) to everybody who favorited and followed this story, feel free to do the same if you haven't already and **please** leave a comment or review. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

" _... and now the latest on the tragic story out of downtown today - five Vale police officers gunned down in a vicious attack on a police precinct, the prisoners housed there after last night's brutal brawl at a local club vanishing. The apparent orchestrator of the crime - identified by the police bureau as Silan Leaward of Atlas - also killed at the scene, apparently shot with his own weapon which he used to kill those police officers._

" _Chief Steele has declined to speak on the loss of the two criminals housed at the precinct, but has sworn that they will be brought to justice - not just for their previous crimes, but for this new set of murders as well. A memorial service for the fallen officers is scheduled for this coming Sunday…"_

A chill wind blew from the west side of town - off the sea and through the nigh-abandoned streets of the industrial district. Five men stepped out of a black, tint-windowed, plateless SUV and strode out to the middle of the empty street. One of them, a great brutish figure in an faux-ursaskin coat, reached into his breast pocket for a cigarette and waited patiently while a rail-thin man in a black suit and black hat lit the smoke for him.

He inhaled deeply before calling out a single word and beckoning with his free hand. Another, younger gentleman - similarly dressed in a heavy jacket, minus the fur, and tall where the other was broad - stepped forward. "Yes, father?"

"Hei, I want you to watch carefully how things go here tonight. Dealings with this pig of a man… they bring me chest pains, you know? Ah, but it must be done, and one day - while you'll have no such 'competition' as I do today, you will have to deal with your own subordinates and potential rivals in a similar manner. So pay attention."

"Of course, father."

As though on cue, the street was awash in driving light. Several of the men shielded their eyes or pulled on pairs of red-tinted glasses, but the heavyset man merely gazed into the coming lights as they closed in distance. For a moment it seemed as though the coming vehicle would not stop, and several of the other men prepared to hustle their boss out of the way. In the end, however, the car pulled off to the side, purred idly for a moment and went to sleep, the snuffed headlights leaving the space eerily dark until the street lights again filled the space with a hazy glow.

The sound of several car doors opening and closing followed, and into the light stepped a group of five or six men, dressed in immaculate white suits and sporting bowler hats. Their leader was a similarly blockish man to his competitor, rows of glistening rings upon his fat fingers as he strode forward to greet the others.

"Hui," the man said gruffly.

"Bron," the other replied in a similarly even tone. "I'm glad you could make it. We have much to discuss."

Bron nodded. "Indeed we do. Shall we begin with the encroachment that you've made upon my territory, or the mysterious attacks on my operations across the kingdom that have been publicly noted as 'more likely the work of humans than Grimm?'"

A few of the black-clad guards' gun-hands twitched, but Hui waved them down. "I'm sorry to hear about these hits against your organization. I certainly know how... frustrating that can be. That said, I've committed no actions against 'your territory' as you describe it. The way I view it, that territory is always available to those with the commitment to take it."

Bron's hands curled into fists and every guard present seemed to tense, waiting for the inevitable bloodbath that was to come. Bron ground his teeth and looked around for a moment before chuckling quietly. "You really are a bull-headed, old-fashioned, tactless pig, you know that, Xiong?" He scoffed as the tall young man next to Hui drew a sidearm, tracking the weapon on Bron's chest as guards all around the gentlemen drew their weapons and took aim.

"Hei!" the senior Xiong hissed. "I told you to watch - not shoot. Put the damned gun down." His voice was level, but deadly serious.

Hei took a deep breath before easing his finger off the trigger and lowering his pistol. Bron chuckled.

"That's right, Junior. Listen to your papa - you might end up just like him one day." He turned his attention back to Hui, a sick grin twisting his blocking figures. "You can play the fool all you like, Hui. The point is, whether you admit it or not, this is war now. And in war, only one side comes out on top.

"It won't be you."

* * *

Hei Xiong slammed the door of the SUV, watching the taillights of Bron Haler's own vehicle as it retreated into the murky night. He shot a glance over his shoulder at his father as Hui ordered the driver to take them back to the family estate uptown. They were quiet for a long time, Hei grinding his teeth, but nobody speaking until the car pulled into the drive of the Xiong home. A pair of guards closed the gates behind the vehicle and as everyone stepped out, Hui called his son aside.

They walked through the side gate and around the back of the home, lights inside the swimming pool refracting ripples across the faces of the two men.

"You do not approve of how lenient I was in the face of Haler's disrespect," Hui said. It was not a question - merely a statement of fact.

Hei inhaled sharply but nodded in response to his father's question. "You should have stood up to him. Letting him say those things - Haler already thinks you're weak, how could you just let him get away with saying things like that?"

Hui held up a single finger. "Firstly, do not presume to speak to me in such a tone as that. You are my son, and entitled to much more than many others… but you are also part of my organization, and _you_ will treat me with the same respect I would demand of any of our men. Is that clear?"

Hei swallowed and blinked nervously before nodding. Hui raised another finger.

"Secondly, what Haler _thinks_ is irrelevant. What we know to be true - that is what matters. Haler believes me a fool? All the better; that misinformation could lead him to make a mistake, which would benefit us. Are you beginning to understand?"

Hei nodded slowly. "Of course. I didn't mean to doubt you, just-"

"Shut up, I'm not finished. Thirdly, we will not have to worry about Bron Haler for much longer. I presume you saw the news reports the previous few days?"

The younger Xiong's eyes widened as he realized where his father was going with this. "A violent brawl sent two dangerous criminals to prison, one of them a former Haler footpad… then both of them escape and a man who we know to have worked for Haler before turns up dead at the same scene… and more recently, _someone_ has been carrying out organized strikes on Haler's operations. Someone outside of our group."

Hui smiled and reached out, cupping the side of his son's face and giving him an encouraging pat. "And that _someone_ is the key to everything, my boy."

* * *

Neo looked up from the scope of the high-powered sniper rifle that sat, lazy upon its bipod, on the roof hoarding in front of her. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and brushed a strand of hair out of her face as footsteps behind her signaled the approach of someone.

She listened carefully for a moment, carefully gauging the gait and footfall of the person before recognizing Roman's walking pattern and rolling over to view her partner as he strode up, cane tucked under his arm and carrying a brown paper sack. Grease saturated the bottom of the bag and Neo's eyes flashed as he dropped it on the ground next to her, squatting and leaning against the wall as he did.

"Anything change while I was gone?" he asked casually as he opened up the bag and withdrew a wrapped package. Undoing the paper, he peered inside. "Steak sandwich, with an extra patty - that's yours." He withdrew his hand sharply as Neo snatched the food from his hands, unwrapping it more fully and diving with gusto into the protein-packed package within. He took out his own meal and tucked in more conservatively, wary of his petite associate's taste for meat. The other night he had watched her rip apart a roast chicken and consume the bird like it had insulted her mother. Frankly, he was glad to finally have someone around who enjoyed a good steak - his ex-wife was an avowed vegetarian, and he had rapidly grown tired of being told how his "habits" were "murdering innocent animals across Remnant." Nonetheless, the… abandon with which Neo enjoyed her meals could be disconcerting.

Neo shook her head before gesturing to the sniper rifle and returning to her meal. Roman set down his own sandwich and peered through the rifle's viewfinder. Just as they had when he left, two guards still stood idly outside a large, double-story warehouse on an island in Vale's southern industrial district. The men were dressed tastefully in white, collared suits and black slacks, as well as black bowler hats. One smoked a cigarette and chatted quietly while the other idly toted an assault carbine held at hip-level.

Roman didn't know the two men, but they worked for Haler, which meant he had probably met them once or twice in the half-decade he had worked for the crime boss. He swiveled the rifle a few degrees and centered the crosshair over the head of the man with the gun, realizing just how easy it would be to end the life of the thug. Just one… little… tap…

He lowered the rifle and sighed, reaching down and taking a bite of his sandwich before coughing and nearly dropping the sandwich. He laid it down and pressed his eye against the scope again as new developments unfolded before his eyes.

A trio of black SUV's with tinted (likely bulletproof) windows pulled off of the main road and reigned in in front of the warehouse. A dozen men in the same pristine white suits (oh yes, very inconspicuous, Bron) stepped out, several carrying rifles or machine guns and standing watch while the two at the front of the warehouse hastily opened up the heavy iron doors. A few more men began unloading the backs of the SUV's, carrying heavy, sealed cases through the doors before they had finished opening. The entire affair lasted two minutes, but Roman took care to not every important detail in that time.

Though it was difficult to tell precisely, there were catwalks inside the warehouse which likely housed watchers or snipers. An room on the ground floor, as well as another up above, were separated from the rest of the room and housed an office space used for the administrative aspect of Haler's operation. Inside, a pair of trucks were parked on one side of the spacious loading area, while much of the remaining space was crowded with cargo containers, loading equipment and more of those heavy crates that the men were loading in from the SUV's.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and shuffled aside to let Neo take a look, taking the moment to duck down from the hoarding and take a bite of his sandwich before reaching into his coat for a cigarette and lighter. As he stuck the tip into the corner of his mouth and lit it behind the cover of his folded hands, he saw Neo duck down as well, wipe her hands off with a rag and dab at the corners of her mouth before setting back to watch Roman.

She raised an eyebrow, silently inquiring about the plan. Roman exhaled a cloud of smoke and pulled a knife from the inside of his coat. Flicking the blade out, he traced a circle in the cracking concrete roof beneath their feet, marking a large rectangle with several smaller boxes and squares inside. He pointed with the tip of his knife to the largest quadrilateral.

"That's the warehouse," he began. Neo responded with a "no duh," kind of expression and he sighed softly before continuing. "We're here. Main point of entry is the doors, which are watched and sealed, but can be controlled from either this panel here," he said, pointing to a spot near the far-right corner of the diagram, "or from inside. The security office here, and administrative officer here, house what we're looking for. They'll have a computer and probably paper copies of all Haler's dealings, contacts and suppliers - at least the ones relative to this operation."

Neo raised an eyebrow quizzically at the mention of paper records and Roman took a moment to explain. "Haler's always been a fan of using conventional books for keeping tabs on his deals - less chance that some opportunistic wise-guy with a scroll and a pair of balls will hack into the archives and start fucking shit up. Anyway, that's what we need to get. Now, I'm not particularly worried about the goons watching this place - I know the kind of people that Haler employs, and they're nothing impressive. However, we need to be careful to make sure that none of them can get a message off to Haler too soon. One of them blows the whistle and we'll be swamped with footpads - or worse, cops - before we can curse the bastard's name.

"I don't know what's in all those cases down there; I never saw any sort of cargo that necessitated transport like that, but once we have what we need, our best bet would be to burn the place or narc on Haler. That stuff is tainted," he said, noting Neo's look of protest when he suggested destroying the goods. "Without the resource network Haler has, we wouldn't hold onto that stuff for a day before the cops or someone else got wind of it. We wouldn't be able to fence it without Haler finding out anyway. Best not to take chances."

Somewhat reluctantly, Neo nodded.

"I'll stay here and provide overwatch with the rifle while you go in and get that info," Roman finished. "Don't take too long - police will be here quickly if this thing goes south, so let's be done and gone before that happens, sound good sweetheart?"

He threw in the last bit as a joke and chuckled at how quickly Neo's placid expression took on a much more dangerous edge. She smacked him on the shoulder as she passed, finishing her sandwich and picking up her parasol before nimbly leaping down the face of the building and landing in the alley at the side of the building. She slipped across the road as the doors ground shut, leaving all but the two watchmen inside the warehouse.

Roman flexed his fingers around the grip of the rifle, adjusting the sighting just slightly and once again centering the crosshair on the chest of one of the watchers.

Neo strode confidently up to the front of the warehouse, short legs stepping with a (comparatively) long gait as she put on her best smile. The two men took on defensive postures as she approached, the one with the cigarette still hanging out the corner of his mouth calling out to her.

"Hold up there miss. I don't think you're s'posed to be here."

She put on her best, "oh really?" pout and cocked her head to the side playfully. Roman scoffed as his aim loomed over the man who had yet to speak. The woman was walking sex when she wanted to be… and the grim reaper the rest of the time.

The footpad turned over his shoulder and looked to his compatriot for advice. The other shrugged, and as the smoker turned back to Neo, she lashed out like a serpent. Her hand struck the man in the throat and as he coughed and sputtered she kicked him in the gut, vaulting over his suddenly-hunched form and slamming the nerve cluster at the back of his neck with her elbow. The other man raised his rifle, but Roman was quicker. The rifle bucked and hissed in his grip and a round split the air, passing clearly through the man's calf and spattering blood onto the concrete behind him. He cried out and fell to one knee, Neo crossing the space in an instant and pivoting on one heel, a booted ankle crossing the man's face with an ugly crack. He fell, jaw shattered, and moaned on the ground for a moment before Neo gave him a good blow between the shoulderblades and kicked the man's rifle away.

She flashed Roman a cocky smile and moved along the side of the building, disappearing out of Roman's line of sight. He sighed, checking once more to make sure neither of the unconscious men became a liability.

A few minutes later, he inhaled sharply as he saw the heavy doors of the warehouse grinding open. Inside, as natural light flooded the warehouse floor, several Haler goons looked up, questioning the sudden arrival of more materials. One stepped forward, hand consciously drifting to the pistol at his side.

His hand never reached the weapon. Instead, a single, high-velocity round crashed through the center of his chest and exploded out the back. The man fell, dead before he reached the ground, and every other gangster in the warehouse leapt to alert.

Roman tracked the rifle from one man to another, dropping any too slow to find cover. One man ducked out of the way of one of his shots only to be suddenly dropped to the ground by a petite figure in a white jacket. The blur of brown, white and pink sprinted across the space again, flipping through the air and planting her hands on one man's shoulders as he leaned up from the crate he was cowering behind. Her momentum kept her rolling forward and her feet found purchase in the small of the foeman's back. She continued to spin, the unnatural, aura-fed strength within her miniscule frame flinging the man high into the air. As he flew, seemingly suspended, Roman tracked him in midair with the rifle and fired a single shot with struck center of mass and saw the gangster dropping like a sack of rice.

He cranked the bolt of the rifle and fixed in on another target. Neo, meanwhile, opened her parasol just in time to block a hale of machine-gun fire. She lunged around the paltry barricades the men were improvising from the crates and rolled, one leg sweeping the ankles of the shooter while the other launched her into a midair spin. She writhed like a snake, booted-heel crashing down atop one man's skull and slamming his chin against a container. Meanwhile she jabbed out with her parasol, slipping the closed package through the machine-gunner's defenses and opening the canopy as soon as it was on the other side of the white-clad attacker's form. Hopping into the air and wrenching backwards with her arm, the parasol staggered the man forward as it struck him in the back and forced him directly into Neo's double-footed kick.

He fell, clutching his broken ribs and sternum, as Neo playfully kicked away his weapon as well. She turned and looked around the room, noting numerous red and white heaps that played testament to Roman's efficiency with the rifle. Her admiration quickly turned to disappointment as she realized the fight was over, and she closed her parasol before turning and walking casually toward the ground-floor office.

It took Roman a minute to pack the rifle away in a duffel bag and cram the whole thing under the hoarding, before grabbing Melodic Cudgel and heading down to the warehouse himself. He stepped around the defeated forms of the Haler employees, stepping into the office and checking over Neo's shoulder as she poured through a stack of loose papers. She gave him only a brief, cursory glance, before returning to her work.

"What? No compliments on my shooting?" he asked, feigning hurt.

Neo rolled her eyes, which Roman noted were both brown at this precise moment, before pulling out a few papers, stuffing them into Roman's hands and gesturing to the stairs to the second floor just outside the office. Taking her meaning, Roman lead the way as the two crooks headed upstairs, repeating their process with the papers. Roman also took a moment to crack open the CPU for the computer seated on a metal desk and pulled out the hard drive as carefully as he dared. With luck, Haler's men had saved copies of their relevant information to the drive, and they could examine it at their leisure later.

He saw Neo perk up, eyes flashing in the (literal) blink of an eye from brown to pink. "What is it?" he asked, alert as well. She ducked in response and gestured out the door. Roman crept forward, peering around the corner and taking note of several black vehicles that had pulled up outside the warehouse. He swore quietly before realizing that the vehicles were not police-standard.

Half-a-dozen figures in black suits stepped forward, led by a towering giant of a man in a white shirt and black vest. They examined the Haler footpads, in various states of death or dying, before the man in the lead called out, voice ringing across the space.

"We know you're still here, and we know that you share a common enemy with us. Come out and let's talk business - I know that's something you both understand."

Roman shot Neo a glance and her eyes flashed. She shook her head slowly but Roman peered out again. The big man knelt next to one of the Haler men, the gangster's white suit stained with blood, though the man still drew breath. The vested newcomer held up the man by the scruff of his neck as though he weighed no more than a doll.

"You still need convincing that we hate Haler just as much as you?" He gave an almost-imperceptible nod to one of his henchmen and the black-suited figure stepped forward, drawing a pistol and shooting the wounded man through the head. The big fellow dropped the corpse unceremoniously. "You want Bron Haler dead, and so do we. You have the skills to kill him, and we have the resources to get you close enough to do so. If we work together, we both share in the spoils."

Roman checked over his shoulder again and saw the conflict on Neo's face. One eye flashed to white while the other remained pink and she edged closer to the doorway.

Sighing, Roman made the decision for them both. Standing, he stepped out into the open, holding his hands in the air. "I'm Roman Torchwick and this is my associate," he said, gesturing to Neo as she stepped out as well. He saw that she was unhappy with his decision, but he figured that if need be they could shoot their way out of here. Besides, these folks didn't strike him as cops, and if he wasn't mistaken, the black suits and hats down there were characteristic of Xiong associates.

"We're interested in hearing your offer," he continued nonchalantly.

At a distance, the big man smiled. "Then come on down. We'll give you a ride, you can meet our boss and we can have a nice, civil discussion. We've got plenty to talk about."

* * *

 **AN** **-** Oh yeah they do. I'm glad I found a way to fit the crime war between the Xiongs and Halers into this - it's an idea that I really liked when it came to me and I thought it'd be a cool way to give yet another of our villains (Junior) a cool backstory alongside Roman and Neo. Next chapter will be a lot of plot-setup for later on, without too much action. Chapter 5 though? Whew. I've already got that one drafted, and if you think that Roman and Neo killing twenty people like in this chapter was brutal, you haven't seen _shit._

Thanks to all the people who left favorites, follows and reviews (and the one guy who posted the same review 3 times - really appreciate you bolstering my numbers, bro), please feel free to do so again. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks for reading!


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